Oak Tree Poem by Nerissa Morton

I try to move my stiff torso
I feel so trapped
As the wind blows;
My hundred of arms sway
The wind picks up
My colour changing fingers fall to the ground;
The ground, which has trapped me

Strange, four limbed creatures scramble over me
Ripping off my fingers,
Sitting on my arms
I cannot shake them off
The ground, once again, has left me disadvantaged

Tiny, black spots attempt to tickle me
My hard, brown coating stops them from succeeding

If only I were free from the ground which holds me captive
I would run from the rain,
Hide from the wind,
Shake the attacking vultures off,
I wouldn't be harmed everyday
But I am only an oak tree.